Add It To the Best in Shows… [J. Roddy Walston & The Business/Egg Babies Orchestra/Young Sir Jim @ the Ottobar 3/28/09]

…WITH THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE CONTRIBUTING quite a bit.
So it started back at the beginning of March, when I was all up in the air about what to do for my birthday. This happens every year, where I feel the need to celebrate my birthday, and no shame in being the catalyst for everyone else to do it, too–I do not remember most people’s birthdays, and therefore do not expect them to remember mine, but everyone likes a party. This year, I ran into the too-many-ideas problem (duck-pin bowling? Baltimore Blast game? Kareoke?). The result came in a conversation with my friend J: we were standing in the parking lot at work one early morning, I ran him through the dilemma I just ran you through, he told me that he has a dilemma for his birthday: that it occurs on a Saturday, opportune party time, but that he had promised (in his specifically generous, big-hearted J way; that is, whether or not he’d actually committed, he felt the tug of loyalty he feels to all his friends) a friend that he’d go see his band that night at the Ottobar.
Anyhoo, long story short, one of us suggested having a March Birthdays Party for all (including him, his wife, me, and at least three other friends) of us together. This, through a couple reschedulings, took place on Friday night. Saturday night was the show, and since e and I hosted the party–we thought it would take to the streets and bars of Hampden eventually, but it was pretty clear that wouldn’t happen even before the party started–I almost forgot about the show, or at least it diminished in my looking-forward-to-ness. That’s mostly because it seemed like a no-cares show, like, more a night at the Ottobar, or a brief couple of beers at the Ottobar than Goin To a Show at the Ottobar. We knew the bassist of the first band through a longtime friend of mine who’d been in a relationship with him for a couple of years. By Saturday night, I was teetering on the usual weekend fence of See My Friends or Chill on the Couch With E and Whiskey and Books and Movies and Music, but eventually said, okay, sure, I’ll go for a drink or two and Young Sir Jim’s set, then come back, finish watching almost-terrible-ass Brokedown Palace.

Well, I was wrong.
As soon as I pulled onto 26th St. and saw people parallel parking, I knew it was not going to be the night I thought. Indeed, there were no spots in the lot, and I had to drive around to Maryland Ave. to get a spot. Then the doors were on the side rather than the front, and there was a line spilling out. When I got in, I thought, Shit, this is more people than I’ve seen at the Ottobar in years, besides for Ted Leo or the Walkmen.
J and I chatted with the Friend of a Friend until his band went onstage. Even for them (Young Sir Jim), our place at the back of the crowd was nearly at the sound booth. Young Sir Jim did a pretty good job; the crowd seemed fairly appreciative. It was hard not to think that this was the biggest crowd they’d played for, and it was clearly a pleasure for them. Personally, I thought they didn’t suck: the lyrics made me cringe quite a bit, but the vocals often made up for it (actually, it’s possible that if they’d been buried a little more in the guitars, it would’ve been alright). The music was thankfully varied enough from song to song; if I’d heard the same thing over and over, as I feared at the beginning of the set, it would have been capital a Awful. They did set off my jammy/stoner radar, though, which always gives me the mixed feelings of “ayy, not so much my thing” and “aww, this reminds me of college…”
So by this time, despite still wanting to go back home and wondering how I would make it through the next whatever it would be, 3 hours, with only one or two beers left in my Still Driveable quota, I had the sneaking suspicion I should be sticking around for the rest of the bands. The crowd was thick, not-overly-hip, not all 18-22 years old, and I’d seen a couple of familiar and friendly faces from The Scene, as I know it, which is mostly from high school and very little.
J and I retired to the upstairs, if only because we’d both not been to the Ottobar in “awhile”/”forever” depending on who you asked. They’d managed to keep the clique pocket over by the DJ area, where tonight instead of BBCers or soul-night goodfooters like I remembered from the early Aughts there was a clutch of people who appeared to be having some sort of Boogie Nights/Divine tribute night. Mind you, this is my ascertation by trying not to stare, so take it how you will.
[Twelve hours later, I continue writing:]
So after partaking of another beer and some heretofore at the Ottobar unseen snack plates, we felt the bass through the floor and headed back downstairs. As we’re descending the skinny staircase, I hear, I swear, the theme to Top Gun. That huge ringing guitar line, fully orchestrated. This, apparently, was Egg Babies Orchestra. We’d not only stumbled upon a J. Roddy show, or an Egg Babies Orchestra show, but Egg Babies Orchestra’s second annual Movie Show. By the time I left my beer by the front door, went out the front door, came in the back door, and pushed my way up to–I just want my beer, I swear–the front, the sheet hanging behind the band was filled with the sweaty, hunky visages of Tom Cruise and Anthony Edwards playing volleyball, and the band–two or three guitarists, bass, keyboards, xylophone, vocals vocals vocals, and drums by Mr. Anders (also of Gary B. and the Notions).

I went around the building to the upper/back area again where I met up with J and we watched Egg Babies cruise through “Xanadu,” “A Quick One,” “The Never Ending Story,” the theme from St. Elmo’s Fire, “UHF,” and so on and so forth. Staggeringly delightful. My only regret is that the sound doesn’t really translate to the top bar area, but there were enough people down there I felt the need to reserve energy for the last band.

And that need turned out to be accurate. In between Egg Babies and J. Roddy Walston & the Business, I ran into someone I’ve mostly known through shows since high school, and I mentioned that I hadn’t seen J. Roddy before. “Really?” he said, seeming kind of surprised, “You’re in for a treat.” It was quite an understatement.
I’ve read enough in the last two days of the few paragraphs floating around the internet about J. Roddy Walston & the Business that I won’t belabor too long to replicate that feeling I had at 2:30am Saturday night through words.
But I said goddamn!
I both said goddamn! and said I said goddamn!
J. Roddy & the Business beat you up, shake you around, hammer it around, stomp all over it, rock you, and roll you. He plays piano like a hungry kid with his utensils pounding on the table, a hungry kid who is also trying to fuck the shit out of something under the table. Okay, it’s there, it’s hard not to see it, but I’d say it’s better described as a maniacal lurching around, probably the only way to really let it all out while still playing piano (I’m guessing; I’m mediocre guitar player, a piano player not at all). He also romps it up on guitar, for Saturday’s set maybe a little less than half the time. Meanwhile, the Business are there, matching every single physically-rocking ante Mr. Walston throws in the pot, and upping them a fair amount, too. I had one of those moments I love at shows, where you see certain people milling about the crowd all night long, and then they end up onstage at the end of the night and totally blow your perceptions of them. There was a guy who walked by me during Egg Babies’ “UHF” rendition that made me think, “And there goes Weird Al himself–or at least the new, non-fro’d version of him.” Now I’m pretty damn sure he was the bassist for the Business, who whipped his long curly hair about and threw himself around and screamed his fucking lungs out like he wanted to show My Morning Jacket a thing or two.
We’d perched outselves on the mezzanine, I guess I felt like an outsider for not having seen them before, so I wanted to let the floor go to those who seriously wanted to party. Plus, hell, the mezzanine is fine place to watch the show.
So, yeah. Unbelievable. Best new band I’ve seen or heard in a long time. Had some thoughts along the lines of “won’t be surprised if that’s the last time I see them in a venue that small” and “they’re gonna get much, much bigger, if there’s any justice in this world.” Today I read something about there being trouble translating the live energy to record for awhile, though I think they said that was solved on last year’s Hail Mega Boys. All I know is today I looked in my wallet and was like, “20 dollars, what the hell are you still doing in there? Why didn’t I trade some of you for that J. Roddy CD? Why on earth did I think a rad t-shirt was enough?”

When not even all was said and done, I ended up getting at least one or two more beers than I should’ve to drive home. I said, wait, fuckit, this is badass, my foot is stomping relentlessly, no, my whole leg is stomping like crazy, I’m headbanging…keep ‘em coming, I’m walking home.
(In the end e came and got me and J, so big thanks to her!)

PS: For those Gary B. & the Notions fans out there (oh, wait, e, I already told you this…), I talked to the drummer for a bit after the show, and while I’ll let Gary and the band divulge their releases and news when they want, I’ll say that he quelled my fears that the band was fading away. They’re just working and waiting.